Bridges Yet to Be Burned
by RadicalThinker
Summary: A familiar face keeps appearing in Montag's dreams and in his everyday life. Montag thinks he's going crazy. People don't come back from the dead; or so he thinks. Set seven years after the book. A MontagxClarisse fanfiction.


PROLOGUE:

Montag arrived with the rest of the men, compacted together as they trudged through the wreckage. A large layer of dust had settled over the rubble, soot still drifting through the area like a swarm of locust. All was silent except for the sounds of their footsteps. It ricocheted through the destruction; speaking louder than they, than any man, than any _book_ could. It was there everywhere they looked-bodies littered the streets, buildings laid in pieces on the floor, car were smashed beyond recognition.

"Horrible." Wheezed a man by the name of Oliver. Montag turned his gaze towards him, watching as he pressed his sleeve coat to his mouth, his wandering gaze moving across the damage before they finally rested on him. He was Montag's age; a bit shorter, with gangly limbs and an oval face, a turned up mouth and hazel eyes filled with sadness. Montag stood there for a moment, unsure on what he should do. "We have to look for survivors."

Montag was surprised to hear his own voice; he had not expected his voice to sound so calm, so normal. He should have felt sad; it was, after all, a time of mourning, a time to grieve. _For what_, Montag thought savagely, his eyebrows coming together in aggravation. Overwhelming shame filled him then. Millions of people were dead; Mildred was dead. A hot needle of pain filled his chest and Montag bent for a moment, gasping as he did. Mildred. She was gone. Dead. He remembered something, about meeting her-Chicago. That was what he remembered, all he could remember for now because his mind was running and his chest was too tight for him to even try to breathe and his eyes had begun to water once more, causing tears to trickle down his dirty cheeks, leaving streaks.

A hand clasped his back and Montag straightened, turning his gaze to the person. Granger was there, a lone tear on his cheeks. He met Montag's eyes and gave his a flash of upturned lips-it was too small to be considered a smile and Montag knew that it would be a while before they would smile. Perhaps they would never smile; they would be stuck, with pain and bitterness and forbidden words as their only companions.

Montag turned his back on the men and began his trek down the city streets, eyes flittering about. The silence was now beginning to dissolve; wails had begun to puncture the air, loud shrieks of anger and despair slicing through the silence like a knife. Montag still continued on his way, his boots crunching the dirt as he did. He could hear shuffling behind him. He glanced back and was surprised to find all the men right on his heels. Every now and then, a man would break ranks to check the area, but they would return empty-handed, their faces appearing glum at not being able to help anyone.

Montag continued on, allowing his body to walk towards the wails; they were like sirens, ringing shrilly through the air, drawing him in like a mosquito to the light. He spotted the first among many; a boy, around nine or ten, hunched over, wailing over a dead woman. The entourage stopped, their eyes all on the child. Montag stepped forward, but the sound of his boot accidentally scuffing alarmed the boy enough for him to spin around and cry out in horror. Montag held up his hands, standing as still as physically possible. He watched, waited for the boy to move towards him, but he simply stayed there, rooted to his spot, eyes wide as tears streamed down his cheeks.

"Are you okay?" Montag took a step forward, his palm out as a sign of friendliness, of peace. The boy watched him warily, sniffling occasionally and shifting uncomfortably as Montag approached. He watched Montag, watched him move closer and closer until he was standing right in front of him. The boy looked up and suddenly, the boy was in his arms, clinging to him desperately while sobs poured loose from his mouth. "Mommy!" He wailed desperately and Montag could do nothing but hold him close, head bowed and his eyes shut.

Montag allowed his lids to open and when he turned back towards the men, a fiery look that screamed of steely determination was in his eyes. "Granger, divide the men into six search parties. We need to find any survivors we can." The men all stood there for a moment, slack-jawed, a new kind of admiration in their eyes. Granger stepped forward and nodded towards him, appearing to have been rejuvenated by Montag's declaration. "You've done good, Montag." He spoke and met his eyes, a small smile appearing on his face before it disappeared once more. "You've done good."

Throughout the rest of the day, the men scoured the city; looking for even a speck of livelihood. They had recovered a measly three hundred and seventy-three survivors; most were younger, along the lines of children and young teens who had orphaned in the bombing. There were some adults and a few were older people; they all stood in segregated groups, whispering, crying, shouting. Montag stood there, his eyes sweeping over the people, his lips pressed hard against one another as he took them in. He stepped down from the perch he had stood on; a crumbling building that had been easy enough for him to scale without him drawing too much attention to himself.

Moving towards the children's section, he spotted the boy he had rescued earlier; Donald was his name, Montag had discovered a few hours earlier. He was sitting off to the side, looking down at his balled up fists with a blank expression on his face. Montag stepped close and crouched, his eyes scrunching up in concern when Donald did nothing. "Donald?" Montag muttered smoothly, his hand coming up to rest of the boy's adjoined hands. Donald flinched back and glared up at Montag, who simply blinked at the boy's furious expression.

"She's dead." Donald spat and sharply turned his gaze away, allowing his head to snap to the side. Montag watched his profile for a moment, silently contemplating on his approach. "Yes." Montag stated, standing and moving to sit at the little boy's side. "Why?" Donald glanced up at him, his bottom lip trembling. Montag felt compassion-a rather rare emotion that he hadn't felt in who knew how long.

"Bad things happen, Donald." Montag allowed his arm to wrap around the boy's shoulders, squeezing gently. Donald turned into him, sniffling. Montag simply sat there, patting the boy's shoulders, all the while trying to control the last ten years of his life; Mildred smiling at him, Mildred cooking, Mildred slipping the seashells into her ears for the first time, Mildred slowly withdrawing from him, Mildred staying up to watch the first wall he had bought for her, Mildred not being able to sleep and having to take sleeping pills, Mildred overdosing. The last memory hit him like a truck; _Beaty stood at his side, smiling fiendishly as Montag stood, his disbelieving gaze on the house-his home, his sanctuary. He watched the door open, watched Mildred spill out onto the pavement, her steps quick and her eyes wide with terror._

_"Mildred!"_

_She dashed past him, ignoring him, barely acknowledging his existence as she ran towards the awaiting beetle-taxi at the end of the driveway. Her face was pale, but didn't hold its usually pristine perfection; she wore no makeup except for some powder that had been blotched on with no attempt to brush it away. "Mildred, you didn't put in the alarm!"_

_He watched her open the car door, clambering in awkwardly with the small suitcase she she held, muttering to herself disapprovingly. "Poor family, poor family, oh, everything gone, everything, everything gone now…"_

"Montag."

Montag was startled; he looked up sharply, his eyes meeting Granger's, who stood rather stiffly in front of him. "What are you doing?" He asked sharply and Montag blinked in surprise at his angry tone. Glancing to his side, he noticed the slumped body of Donald, who was sleeping peacefully against him, small snores escaping his opened mouth every now and then.

Carefully, he pried himself away from the boy and stood, his head lowering so that he could meet the shorter man's eyes. "Alright, Granger. What seems to be the trouble?" He asked calmly, his tone peaceful. Granger glared up at him for a moment, before his shoulders relaxed and he offered a friendly smile towards him. Montag was confused; Granger was confusing, a man with wisdom and mystery and yet, was open and as friendly as a child whose emotions moved from second to second.

"The people need someone to rally them. And since you're our leader-"

"When was this decided?" Montag asked curiously, a bit of mirth in his tone. Granger become serious, his face melting into one of cold indifference. "As soon as you stepped out of the shadows and I saw who you were." Granger confessed and nodded to himself, his gaze drifting off past Montag's head, looking up to the ash-filled sky. "Since you are our leader," Granger fixed Montag with a stare so fierce that he could do nothing but stare, "you are the one that shall have to lift them from the ashes and into the light. They need guidance and what more could anyone need than a man who has already risen himself?" Granger concluded and with a curt nod, turned on his heel, leaving Montag slack-jawed and amazed.

Montag began his walk to where he had once stood, briskly climbing the crumbling steps. He turned and raised his hands wide, palms out. The voices that had been speaking only a moment ago had died away and left Montag with a feeling of dread.

"Brothers! Sisters!" Montag heard himself cry out towards the multitude, his eyes beating down on them. "We have been through hell and back today; we have lost everything we've held dear and for what?" He began, his voice sounding meek in his own ears. A quiet murmur of disapproval spread throughout the crowd. Montag felt his eyes narrow and he squared his shoulders, holding his hand up as he awaited for silence to fall once more.

When no one dared to breathe a word, he opened his mouth once more and began to speak. "We did nothing wrong and yet, they decided that it was time for them to dispose of us. They killed our mothers, fathers; our brothers, sisters, cousins, our husbands, our wives-" Montag winced when he uttered the phrase, but continued on, knowing he had to. "They've slaughtered your children! Your very way of life was meant to be eradicated!" Montag cried with passion, his arms held out before him, his voice so earnest that the crowd had begun to slip under somewhat of a trance, their eyes wide as they listened to him, their minds beginning to cling desperately to his words.

"We must not allow them to take that from us! We must fight for our lives, our family's lives, our existence!" A deafening cry was heard from the crowd below and Montag took a step back, his eyes wide in shock as he watched them cheer, their fists raised high above their heads, their cries filling the solemn air with something akin to enthusiasm.

Quickly, he stepped down from the stand he had once stood on and in seconds, people were surging towards him, surrounding him and crying out his name is a loud cheer. "_Montag! Montag! Montag!_" They cried and Montag felt a small smile creep onto his face. Perhaps, there was reason to smile now, for now, he would finally get the rebellion he had craved since the moment Clarisse McClellan had first uttered her name.

* * *

><p><strong>Hey, guys! I know I haven't worked on my other fanfics, which is horrible and bad, but I promise I will! I've been suffering from writer's block (CURSE YOU) and haven't really been motivated to write them. Now, I feel more motivated and will be updating soon.<strong>

**Anyway, the story behind this is that I ended up reading this book a couple weeks ago and decided, since I love this book so much, to write a fanfic about it. So, I ended up writing all of this a couple weeks ago in the middle of the night on a gigantic sugar rush. (Kit kats are my kryptonite, okay? Don't judge me.)**

**I ended up completing it and since I have a big mouth and accidentally pressured myself into publishing it, I did. Whoops.**

**Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed the first chapter! Reviews are greatly appreciated!**

**xoxo,**

**RadicalThinker**


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